DEAD MAN WALKING
by Rebel8954
Summary: No one would ever accuse Jim Ellison of not being a proud man. Even shackled and handcuffed, he walked towards the interrogation room with his head held high. WARNING: Death of a major character. If this bothers you, please do not read. WARNING: M/M Sexual scenario implied.


' _Dead man walkin'_

 _Walkin' down the hall_

 _Judge says guilty_

 _But still he's standing tall_

 _Dead man walkin'_

 _They say he broke the law_

 _Taking the life of another man_

 _Oh there's a dead man walkin' tonight.'_

No one would ever accuse Jim Ellison of not being a proud man. Even shackled and handcuffed, he walked towards the interrogation room with his head held high. Once inside the room, he patiently waited while one of his two uniformed escorts briefly removed the handcuffs. Once Jim was seated, his right wrist was securely handcuffed to the table.

Internal Affairs Lt. Geoffrey Marshall glanced up from the file he was reading. "That will be all," he advised the uniformed officers. He waited until the two men had left, softly closing the door behind them, before looking across the table. "You have the right to an attorney."

"Which I've waived," Jim quietly reminded him. "I killed the bastard in front of at least six or seven witnesses and confessed to doing it. Why do I need an attorney?"

"Diminished capacity?" Marshall's green eyes narrowed.

Jim sighed. "I knew what I was doing. Eddy Troy killed my partner so I killed him."

Marshall closed the file and leaned back in his chair. "Why?"

Jim blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Why are you talking with me? You've made your confession, and you seem hell-bent on making the acquaintance of the executioner." Marshall tilted his head to one side. "So why talk with me?"

"Two reasons," Jim answered. "First, I figure somebody's going to be screaming for an investigation of Major Crimes with the idea that I had help in killing Troy. That never happened. Second, I want you to investigate Homicide for bungling the Sandburg investigation."

Marshall took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling for several seconds. "Observer Blair Sandburg walked into an armed robbery at the Quick-Mart on Edison Street. The perpetrator, Eddy Troy, shot and killed both the manager of the Quick-Mart, one Abdullah Divari, and Blair Sandburg. Troy neglected to remove the tapes from the security cameras. He was immediately identified and arrested by Homicide investigators." He looked back at Jim. "The detectives of Major Crimes were ordered not to become involved in the investigation."

"And when those morons in Homicide arrested Troy, they neglected to get a warrant for his apartment," Jim snarled. "So the gun they found under his mattress, which was identified by forensics as being the weapon used in both shootings at the Quick-Mart robbery **and** which had Troy's fingerprints all over it, was deemed inadmissible by the Court and Troy was set free."

"And you believe these actions were deliberate? That Detectives Johnson and Marks deliberately botched the arrest?" Marshall's voice was lightly mocking. "Now why would they do something like that?"

"Check IA's files." Jim leaned forward. "Sandburg had filed complaints against both men for harassment. They never should have been assigned the case." His voice became equally mocking. "Wouldn't that be considered just as much of a conflict of interest as Major Crimes handling this investigation?"

"And Major Crimes would have brought Troy in alive?" Marshall goaded.

"Yes." Jim leaned back. "He would have been brought in clean and alive. As a tribute to Blair." He examined the handcuff on his wrist. "I only intervened to clean up Homicide's screw-up."

Marshall slowly nodded. "I'll check into it. If Sandburg had brought complaints against Johnson and Marks, they shouldn't have been anywhere near this case."

"Good." Jim leaned back in his chair.

"How did you get to Troy?" Marshall asked. "He was being brought out of the courthouse through the security evacuation route."

"That wasn't hard to figure out," Jim assured him. "But if I had guessed wrong, I would have gotten him later."

"Are you saying you were given access to the evacuation route?" Marshall frowned.

"No. The only two people who have keys and access to that route are the Chief of Courthouse Security and his deputy. And neither of them gave me a key, a copy of a key, or the access codes. Oh, and I never asked them or anyone else, including Captain Banks, for them either."

"Then how did you get into that hallway, Detective?"

Jim chuckled. "God bless Uncle Sam and his training." His blue eyes suddenly went cold. "Thanks to that training, I can go anywhere in the courthouse, City Hall, or this building that I please." He shrugged. "Eighteen months ago, I was part of a security review team that proposed some changes to that very security system in the courthouse. I was part of a similar team that performed a similar review one year before **that**." He sighed. "Unfortunately, the city, in all its infinite wisdom, refused to implement any of our recommendations." He suddenly grinned. "Makes you kinda wonder what would have happened today if they had, doesn't it?"

Marshall shrugged. "Like you said, you would have gotten to him anyway. Isn't that right?"

"Yes."

Marshall slowly stood. "I'll include your remarks in my report. Just one more question. Were you and Sandburg lovers?"

"We couldn't have worked together if we were, could we?" Jim calmly replied. "That would be a violation of regulations, and Captain Banks would have had to take corrective action."

"So if I were to get a search warrant for your apartment, I would find Blair Sandburg's clothing and personal articles in his bedroom, wouldn't I?"

"That's what bedrooms are for," Jim answered.

Marshall slowly nodded. "One thing I've always admired about Covert Ops training, Detective, is the patience involved in planning an operation and the attention to detail."

Jim half-smiled. "Like I said. God bless Uncle Sam's training." He glanced at the door. "I asked Captain Banks to call my father. If they're out there, can I see them? After all, I've already confessed."

"It'll take me about fifteen minutes to type up this statement," Marshall shrugged. "I don't see any harm." He hesitated at the door. "Good-bye, Detective Ellison."

Jim silently nodded in response.

Marshall closed the door behind him and sighed. "What a stupid waste," he irritably muttered. Straightening his shoulders, he walked down the hall to the observation room. _'If Ellison's accusations are true, I will personally see that heads roll.'_ Opening the door, he saw Simon Banks and an older man quietly talking in a corner. "Captain Banks?" He looked into the other man's blue eyes and took a guess. "Mr. Ellison?"

"Can I see my son now?" William Ellison quickly asked.

Marshall nodded. "As soon as I have this statement typed, I'll have to return him to his cell. I'm afraid it won't take more than fifteen minutes. I'm sure you heard that he wants to see you both." He stood to one side as William walked past him, but looked into Simon's dark eyes. "If Ellison's right about those two Homicide detectives, I promise you it won't be swept under the rug."

Simon removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "We both know there won't be any criminal charges brought against them."

"Most likely not," Marshall admitted with a cold smile. "But IA **does** have a certain reputation for making people's lives miserable. And if they're guilty of what Ellison has accused, then it's quite possible they'll lose their jobs and pensions."

Simon replaced his glasses and turned to follow William. "Doesn't seem like that'll be enough."

"I agree," Marshall softly replied. "Try to convince Ellison to shut his mouth and get a good lawyer." He turned and walked away before Simon could reply.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Jim looked up as the door opened. He briefly smiled as William quickly entered the room followed by Simon.

William glared at the shackles and handcuff then at Simon. "Are those really necessary?" 

"Yeah, Pops, they are," Jim answered. "I'm a dangerous man."

"Stop joking about this!" William angrily ordered.

Jim shrugged. "Who's joking? Everyone here knows my background. They're taking suitable precautions." He leaned forward. "Let it go. I need to talk to you both, and I don't know how fast a typist Marshall is."

"You need to get a good lawyer, Jim," Simon advised as he sat in the chair Marshall had occupied.

"Don't need one. I did it. Case closed."

"Don't be an idiot, Jimmy!" William sat in a third chair and ran both hands through his hair. "Let me call an attorney. Your partner was killed. The man who did it was going to walk away. For God's sake! There are extenuating circumstances!"

"Pops…don't."

"What do you need, Jim?" Simon quietly asked.

"I need you and Pops to do a few things for me," Jim leaned forward. "There's a safety deposit box at City National Bank. Pops, I need you to get the stuff that's inside. You're on the signature card."

"I am?" William's eyebrows rose.

"Just a little more of Uncle Sam's training."

Simon sighed. "Jim, should you be admitting to forgery?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't think it matters much at this point, sir."

"What do you need done, Jimmy?"

Jim lowered his voice. "All of Blair's work is in there." He stared into his father's eyes. "You know what I am, Pops. Blair helped me keep it under control. Someday Steven may have kids…or grandkids. That information could be invaluable to them. And if that doesn't happen, then you make sure Steven understands that it's to be published. Sandburg deserves credit for all the work he did…even if it'll be too late for him to enjoy it."

William slowly nodded. "Thank you for trusting me with this, Jimmy. I won't let you down."

Jim caught his breath then glanced away. "There are…uh…some letters in there as well." Jim cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "There's one from Blair and another from me that are for Naomi." He looked at Simon. "I tried to get in touch with her, but I lost track of her in India. I'd like it if you tried to find her, Simon. Explain what happened and give her those letters."

"Of course I will," Simon nodded.

"There are some legal papers in there as well," Jim continued. "They're pretty much self-explanatory."

"Why did you do this, Jimmy? Why?" 

Simon closed his eyes at the anguish in William's voice.

"Blair was my Guide, Pops," Jim patiently explained in a soft voice. "I'm a Sentinel, and he was my Guide. That bastard killed my Guide for no good reason. He could have taken the money and run…or locked Blair in the back storeroom. But he didn't. So I killed him." He took a deep breath. "And he was my best friend. The best I ever had." Jim looked at Simon. "And I mean no disrespect to you, Simon. You're a good friend."

Simon silently nodded in understanding.

"But even without this Sentinel business, Jimmy, you could fight this!" William put a hand on his son's arm. "Everyone will understand! The man who killed your partner was going free! There's no need for this kind of sacrifice! What happened to Blair was not your fault!"

"This isn't what Sandburg would want, Jim," Simon quietly added. "If he were here, what would he say?"

Jim fondly smiled. "He'd be all in my face, sir, and ready to kick my ass." He closed his eyes and looked away. "But Blair's not here. That's the point."

All three men looked up when the door opened.

Marshall's green eyes flickered from Simon to William and then to Jim. Silently, he placed several sheets of paper in front of Jim. "This is your statement, Detective Ellison. You need to read it and sign it if it's accurate."

"Jimmy, **please**!"

Jim glanced at his father, and shook his head. Silently, he read the words on both pages. Then he looked up at Marshall who gently put a pen on the table. Without a word, Jim picked up the pen and signed his name to the statement.

Marshall took the signed statement and placed it in the file folder. "I'll have you escorted back do your cell." With a silent look at Simon, he walked out.

Jim leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, Pops. I guess I disappointed you again."

"No!" William shook his head. "Don't you dare think that!" He stood and walked to the other side of the room when two uniformed officers entered the room and released Jim from the table.

Standing, Jim put his hands behind his back to be handcuffed. "Don't worry, Pops. Things'll work out." He smiled at Simon. "Thank you, sir. For everything. For me and for Blair."

Unable to speak, Simon nodded.

As soon as the door closed, William turned around. "Whether he wants it or not, he's getting a lawyer. I don't care if I have to have him declared incompetent in the process."

Simon sighed and stood. "I'd better get my people working on tracking down Blair's mother. It'll give them something positive to work on." He turned and looked at William. "Let me know if you need my help."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

' _If I asked you a question_

 _Would you tell the truth_

 _Would you pull the trigger_

 _If you was standin' in his shoes_

 _Dead man walkin'_

 _I know what I'd do_

 _If someone hurt my baby_

 _I'd be walkin' too.'_

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Jim heard the guard approaching the cell. They had him on a suicide watch, and the guards were taking their responsibility for him extremely seriously. A smile ghosted across his lips. They'd already checked on him three times. It was enough to prove they were doing their jobs by checking on him every hour on the hour. But an hour was all that he would need. This time he would use Blair's training rather than Uncle Sam's.

Stretched out on the bunk with his hands beneath his head, he opened his eyes and smiled at the guard. "How ya doin', Wagner?"

"Okay, Detective Ellison. It's quiet tonight for a change." The older man hesitated. "If you need anything, let me know. To my way of thinking, you did a good thing. Lot of people think the same, too. Sandburg was one of us."

Jim slowly nodded. "Thanks, I appreciate it." He cleared his throat. "But I'm okay. Don't need a thing."

As the guard slowly walked away, Jim stared up at the florescent light recessed in the ceiling. The metal guard over the light was welded into the ceiling to prevent a prisoner from using it either as a weapon or breaking the lens of the fixture and using the sharp pieces as a weapon.

But the grid pattern the metal guard made over the lens was something very easy to focus on.

' _When right is wrong and wrong is right_

 _There's a dead man walkin' tonight.'_

The lure of a zone had always been something he'd fought. He'd never told Blair, but sometimes sliding into a zone felt like falling into a nice warm comfortable bed with soft blankets wrapping themselves around your chilled body.

This time…he didn't fight.

' _So if I asked you that question_

 _Would you tell the truth?'_

**Lyrics from Lynyrd Skynyrd's song Dead Man Walking from the Vicious Cycle CD.


End file.
